Substitute Teaching 101
by Black Rose Heart
Summary: How did America manage to talk England into being a substitute teacher for a day? Well he did, and so our favorite Brit's day begins! But along the way, he meets some people who aren't so different from himself. teacher!America and England. Not actively shipping, but somewhat USUK. T for Arthur's language.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Random idea, but it's a tribute to one of the best years of my life. Now, for the very long disclaimer that will apply to all chapters of this story ^-^

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia, Kuroshitsuji (aka Black Butler), Demyx Time or Kingdom Hearts, 1337 speak, A Christmas Carol or the Disney adaption of it, Ford, 1920s slang, Doctor Who or Google. *whew* that was a mouthful.

* * *

The sun was barely over the horizon on this cold February day, but that didn't prevent it from lighting the sky and throwing golden light through the trees and onto the moving form of a red pickup truck, driving through a suburban neighborhood, and containing a certain Englishman and his companion.

Said Englishman currently had a hand covering his eyes, as if a face palm was a permanent fixture to his features. "America, how in all the seven realms of magic did you talk me into going with you on your 'Casual Friday'?"

"C'mon, you old man, this is going to be fun!" The cheerful American said. Ironically, it seemed like he had dressed up for this 'Casual Friday' since he was wearing a collared dress shirt with a tie in place of his usual bomber jacket.

"Okay, the drive was a few hours, but you like Virginia, don't you?"

"And by 'like' you mean have painful memories resurface then yes, I suppose I 'like' it quite a lot. It doesn't help that there's a bloody historical marker every two feet." As he said that, they passed one on the side of the road. "See?"

"Don't be that way, Mr. UK." America said, driving down the misty morning road with practiced ease, before slamming on the brakes, causing his passenger to jolt forward before the seat belt caught him.

"Oh bloody hell, what now?" England grumbled before looking directly out the windshield and seeing…

Geese. Crossing the road.

"Yeah, there's always a lot of them around this house. Maybe cause it's got the pond out front." The American said nonchalantly, but England looked at the house in question and was slightly shocked.

On the other side of the road, small ranchers with neat lawns populated the side of the road. This one was a different tale altogether. Sitting on top of a hill, the building was roughly three or four stories tall, made of brick, with the windows overlooking a water feature bigger than most of the other homes on the street, with a small sandbar where some one of the avians was resting. The only way across was via a small bridge off to the side.

"Cool, isn't it?" America asked, a bright smile on his face. "I was thinking about buying it when it goes up for sale. My old Virginia home is a bit, well, destroyed from Irene since it was oceanfront."

"It's a lovely home, but isn't your debt high enough?" England said, looking at the bespectacled country.

"Well, yeah, but…C'mon, all the geese passed, let's go to the school." Expertly avoiding the question, America hit the accelerator and sped up the pavement to their destination.

* * *

"Not so bad, huh Artie?" The American said as he pulled up in front of the school. The full view was obstructed by a tall magnolia tree, but the Brit could see plenty of it. Bright yellow school buses were already lining up on the bus ramp, nearly blocking a sign that proudly announced the next holiday. A few students were trickling up a walk that led across the school's large front lawn, chatting with each other as they tried to dash to the heated building under the weight of their backpacks.

"I suppose it's all right." As a more isolated country, England usually felt a little uncomfortable around so many people, but since they were children instead of feuding nations, he thought he could cope. They got out of the car and continued up the walk past a set of flagpoles, displaying the nation, state and county banners as they flapped in the slight breeze.

"Well you better like it, 'cause part of it's a really cool international program and they get really good grades. A thousand kids go here, did you know that? I sub here when I can, and it's a good example of how my public schools kick ass."

"Language, Alfred." The Englishman rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, Arthur." A blue eye winked back, confirming the change in aliases.

"You had better not start cursing in the middle of a class of children." Arthur said as Alfred pushed the metal bar on the door, allowing them to go in as the lock mechanism opened up. He held open the door and bowed.

"Welcome to the main hall, your highness." He said grandly, gesturing for his companion to enter and receiving a quick punch in the shoulder.

"Oh come off it, you. Just because I still have a monarchy…" Arthur grumbled, stepping through the door.

"It's fun, Artie. Let's go to the office so I can get to my class." The pair climbed a set of interior steps, right into a hallway filled with a steady stream of kids ranging from four to six feet tall. Some clocks, displaying international times, were mounted on a wall decorated by colorful murals. The loud hubbub of passing kids and teens blurred into a dull roar. As Arthur entered, he would have stopped to take it all in if it wasn't for the impatient American at his side.

Alfred quickly led then to a room with a large glass window making up its wall facing the hallway, and the sign that hung bear it read Main Office signaled that they were in the right place.

A few parents and kids sat in chairs, waiting for assistance. As the duo approached the desk, a woman with a nametag that read "Parent Volunteer" inquired as to their business at the school.

"Oh, well, I'm Mr. Jones, the substitute teacher for the 7th grade today. I didn't get a particular teacher because of some reason."

"Yes, that's because…one second I have the paper right here…ah yes, the English teacher is out for the first part of the day, and the Humanities teacher is out for the second part. Are you all right with subbing for both?" The lady handed him a slip of paper to sign in on.

"Sure, of course." Alfred replied brightly, making a flourishing signature appear on the paper.

"And is this the visitor you mentioned in the email?" She asked, indicating the Brit standing beside him.

"Oh yeah, Mr. Kirkland's visiting from London and he wanted to look at the school. I'll be chaperoning him, so he's okay." He reassured the receptionist.

"Okay well, sign here too and I'll make a visitor sticker for Mr…"

"Kirkland, Arthur Kirkland. Thank you." Arthur stepped in to finish her statement.

"Right, one second, and Mr. Jones, do you need any directions to your rooms?"

"Nope. I've been here enough so I know my way around. The teachers left lesson plans, right?" He looked slightly nervous, and Arthur suspected that the American's grammar was about as strong as his Greek.

"I assume they did, and they're usually on their desks. Here you are, Mr. Kirkland, have a good one!"

"You too." Alfred said before upholding his chaperoning duties and pulling Arthur out the door.

" 'Have a good one'? It sounds oddly suggestive. Quite the farewell your country has developed." Arthur said sarcastically as they walked down the hallway.

"Oh come on, we say it all the time here! Get your mind out of the gutter, Artie." Alfred poked him the shoulder, evoking a glare from the Brit.

"It is secondary school, I suppose they've all got their minds in the gutter." Arthur grumbled as they wove through the crowd of boisterous students who barely noted their presence.

The American led the way for his friend, but right before they turned the corner he stopped, pondering how to explain the next set of hallways. Which was ineffective because the Brit just kept walking.

"No, wait, stop…" His words were too late. In front of a pair of wide green eyes was one of the thinnest hallways in the county. Lockers on both sides squeezed the herd into a tight line about two people wide, which completely ignored the sign stating "Single file zone!" that hung overhead.

"Well," Arthur said, "that'll be a tough one."

"I hate it when you make understatements like that." Alfred said glumly.

* * *

Navigating the cramped space was surprisingly easy. Most of the kids found a way to give them a berth just wide enough to pass by. Alfred was rapidly trying to explain the hallway before the Brit started proclaiming how much nicer it was back on his island.

"Y'see, first it was a high school, so they built it and it wasn't so crowded, then they turned it into a middle school, and most of the 7th grade classes got shoved down here. So about 300 kids have their lockers and classes here." He scratched his head, "Really, I should talk to the board about this; it's gotten worse since I was here last time."

"This truly is ridiculous. I can barely breath." Arthur said as he sidestepped a trifold display which seemed to move of its own volition down the cramped passageway, if it wasn't for the pair of feet sticking out from under it.

Alfred looked slightly confused. "This part? No, this is the wide part. It gets narrower."

No curses or base language were strong enough to describe how the Brit felt, but he gave it a shot anyway. "Oh, bugger."

* * *

A/N: I am not well acquainted with British curses, so excuse the ineptitude on my part. Or correct me, I really do want to learn how to write cursing for Arthur :)

Most of the students are people I chose to randomly cameo because they're interesting personalities to bounce off each other. Though a few are…more specific. Anyone who's read my fic So Let's Set the World on Fire will probably figure it out. This is the school that I based my Highschool AUs off of, but technically this is in a somewhat canon-verse, so…MINDS BLOWN XD This whole thing is partially an excuse for me to talk about school and the strange people I've met along the way.

On another note, this should update regularly, because I wrote quite a bit before I published this chapter. Rejoice, and click the Follow Story button XD


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Tech issues, but I'm back! Enjoy!

* * *

Eventually, the abomination that was the 7th grade annex was conquered, and Alfred stood in front of room 106, opening the door to reveal rows of desks made of plastic and metal, looking as uncomfortable as the expression on Arthur's face. A cloudy whiteboard was mounted to the wall that the desks faced, and several bookshelves at the back of the room held novels and dictionaries with faded spines. But something Alfred noticed immediately was-

"A podium! God, that's awesome! I could give my whole speech about how to stop global warming here!" To demonstrate his point, he stood purposefully behind the podium and adopted a serious expression, "As soon as proper genetic engineering laws are passed for the creation of my epic superhero, I promise to save the world like I always do!" He stuck a pose, flashing his movie-star smile at the invisible audience.

"Come off it, you ninny." Arthur said as he scowled at the display of idiocy, but a smile quirked up at the corners of his mouth. "And you know that plan would never work even in the best case scenario.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, Artie. I know what I'm doing." The million-dollar smile flashed again, but only gathered a roll of the eyes from his companion.

"Don't call me by that absurd nickname. Aren't there lesson plans to go through?" He asked, giving a pointed look to the man behind the podium.

"Oh, right." He crossed the room and sifted through a pile of papers on the desktop. A few student essays there, a B+ test here…ah, "Lesson Plan".

The American read it off with a degree of showiness only matched by game show hosts and used car salesmen while his English comrade stood by. "Directions for teacher, choose students to read from A Christmas Carol in the textbook, page 371. Write down your stopping point and leave it for me on the desk. Take the students to lunch at table 1 at 12:30, pick them up at 1:05 during third period."

"It sounds easy enough. Do you think you can handle it, Mr. Jones, expert substitute teacher?" Arthur's voice was dripping with sarcasm near the end, but Mr. Jones seemed unperturbed.

"Yeah, remember, I've taught here before. The kids here are pretty good." Alfred readjusted his glasses and looked up at the clock. "Class switch in 3, 2, 1…"

As if by magic, a sudden uproar sounded outside the door, as if an army of barbarian soldiers had just charged into battle. Out of concern, Arthur opened the door and was met with a scene resembling a food riot. Kids were almost stacked on top of each other as locker doors slammed shut and locks clicked open and shut.

"Oh hey, Artie, can you put the doorstop in?" Alfred said flippantly as he relaxed in the teacher's chair. He pointed over to a wedge of wood covered partially in masking tape, which the Brit quickly stuffed under the door.

"How do these children survive in this hallway?" Arthur demanded as the madness continued outside.

"Well, as long as no one falls down or drops something, they get along okay. Oh!" Alfred bolted up from his seat and grabbed two dry-erase markers. "I forgot to write my name on the board!"

The words "Mr. Jones" were quickly written on the board in red and blue and a miniature version of the country's flag appeared next to it. Just as the last stripe was drawn, a young girl stumbled into the classroom, breathing deeply, as if the hallways had squeezed the wind out of her. "'Morning," she said faintly, hobbling over to the other side of the room while carrying a world-record breaking amount of school supplies.

Once she recovered, her armload of books was plopped on the last desk of the last row just before an avalanche of papers and binders has spilled out over the floor. As the two blondes were watching her, the flow picked up and several other kids stepped through the door, each giving a quick greeting to the subs.

A tall brunette with glasses waved to the first girl, who waved back, before being seated midway through the first row. A group of children of Indian descent came in arguing over the preferred brand of graphing calculators and professional football before spreading out over the desks. One kid, a short African-American boy with his hair in small braids looked somewhat menacing as he walked in, sizing up the teachers, before going over to the last row to bro-fist the first girl and start talking with her before sitting down in the desk next to her.

Another large group of girls, all sporting Vera Bradley bags and an armful of bracelets between them, all greeted their teacher before sitting down. One boy, wearing a black fedora which was strictly against the dress code over his short brown hair, walked over to the back of the second-to-last row and gave the boy with braids a stern look, causing the other to get out of his seat, only to sit down again in the one in front of it. The fedora was promptly stolen by the girl, who laughed as he got it back on the first attempt and artfully flipped it back on his head.

Most of the desks had been filled, so Alfred put his voice to work as the bell rang. "All right, everybody sit down!" The classroom quieted, aside from the whispered conversations at the back of the room.

He cleared his throat. "Okay, so morning guys, I'm Mr. Jones, this is Mr. Kirkland, and your teacher left me some pretty specific plans." Arthur shook his head and whispered in the American's ear. "Ah, sorry, we've got to take roll first."

Flipping through the pile of papers at the desk, he found the role sheet easily and started calling off names.

"All right, Period 3?" Some nods, a few yeses.

"Amelia?"

"Here."

"Chandler?"

"Here."

"Okay, first name's cut off, Chan-"

"Here, sir." One of the Indian kids spoke up, all too familiar with his name being mangled by teachers.

"Right, Taylor?"

"Here," The African-American boy said, "I prefer to go by Lord of the Universe." This wording just made the girl roll her eyes and sigh exasperatedly as he slapped a high-five with the boy behind him while the rest of the class laughed.

"Sorry, I'm not good with long names. Just Taylor will have to do." Some kids laughed. "Alexandra?"

"Present."

The list continued. Arthur was secretly trying to figure out who the girl in the back corner of the room was. Something seemed oddly familiar about her… However, the alphabetical order of the roll thwarted his efforts until the end.

"Westley?"

"Here." The fedora's owner said.

Alfred nodded, checking off the box next to his name. "All right, but aren't hats against the dress code?"

"Sorry sir." He took it off, prompting an "I told you so" look from his friend.

"Mei?"

"Here." The girl finally said. Upon closer study, Arthur realized she looked vaguely Chinese, but her American accent hinted at growing up here. Maybe she was half…He mentally slapped himself. Now was not a good time to channel Sherlock Holmes.

A lone hand raised above the flat layer of heads. Alfred noticed. "Yes? Question?"

"Um, yeah. Why are there two of you?" The kid asked shyly.

"Well, he," Alfred jerked a thumb at the Brit, "is visiting from England, and he wanted to come along." A few chuckles from the class.

"Ooh! So do you, like, have an accent and stuff?" One girl asked, her blonde curls bouncing about her eager expression.

Arthur decided it was his turn to talk. "Why yes, I do." A general murmur of discussion fell over the class, but Alfred decided to step in so he could get a chance to teach.

"Okay, so your teacher, Mrs. Renard, left me a note saying you guys are reading out of "A Christmas Carol"?" Agreement from the class. Or, at least from whoever was paying attention. "All right, well, who wants to be the…ghosty guy?"

_You have got to be joking. _"It's Marley. You do know we're talking about the play by Charles Dickens, not the Disney movie starring Scrooge McDuck?" Arthur commented sarcastically. The class laughed again. It was somewhat like being in a sitcom, with a live audience.

"I knew that," Alfred said grumpily before looking out into the room. He liked the fedora kid, Westley's style. Why not? "Okay, you back there."

Hands went up and down like pistons as all the roles were chosen. Once it was finished, the performers all stood at the front of the classroom, holding their textbooks open as one kid read the narration. The two adults had retreated to the teacher's desk.

"So, will them reading one of your plays get the school on your good side?" Alfred whispered, to which Arthur just rolled his eyes. Meanwhile, Taylor was doing a good job of telling the poor to decrease the surplus population.

"Possibly. They seem to be doing as good of a job as expected."

"I think they're doing okay. And for the record, the Disney movie was epic."

"I should know, remember? A few years ago you insisted I watch it with you."

Alfred twiddled his thumbs nervously. "Oh, that's right…I kinda freaked out at all the ghosts though, but…still."

"Not a convincing argument, Alfred." Arthur smirked.

Mr. Jones flashed a grin at his former caretaker. "Hey, I can attribute any childhood phobias to you, old man."

"Shut it." Arthur said, crossing his arms and trying to block out the annoying American next to him.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so I lied, my updates were very, very far apart. So to apologize, I'm probably going to go on daily updates for a while. I swore I'd never use OCs because they distracted from the plot, but now I think it'd be a good experience for the dup to meet new people. Plus, it gives me a chance to make people i know cameo in my stories :)

Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:Following up on my promise of daily updates!

* * *

As they fell silent, the Brit studied all the students. Sure, there were the popular girls who whispered back and forth, barely concealing giggles, their blank expressions mirroring their shallow personalities. Some gamers talking about Call of Duty cheat codes, and a few who just didn't give a crap about school were going through the motions.

But, Arthur had to admit, a surprising amount of people were paying genuine attention to the lesson, reading in their textbooks and following along. But there was one student who stood out.

It was the girl from the beginning of class, the first one in the room. She didn't turn the page at the same time as the others, and seemed to be staring off into the middle distance, spacing herself far away from her cold, hard desk. He had the urge to go up and ask "Penny for your thoughts".

It seemed that the instinct to reach for lunch boxes at exactly 12:30 was embedded deeply within the students' subconscious, so even without the prompting of his British visitor, Mr. Jones stopped the lesson in time. Leading the kids back up the hall, which was still so small it would give Arthur a case of temporary claustrophobia, Alfred managed to get the entire class of 29 students there in one cohesive unit.

They descended a flight of stairs, getting closer and closer to the source of a smell like burning mustard. Arthur wrinkled his nose, but everyone else seemed to judge this as normal and continued on. As soon as one intrepid child opened the thick wooden door, a wall of solid sound hit their eardrums with all the delicacy of a stampede of elephants. Chatter punctuated by loud hollers increased in volume as the group moved into the cafeteria.

"Well," Arthur said, trying to be heard over the ruckus and sensory dissonance in their surroundings, "bloody fantastic this place is."

Alfred had either heard his negative statement or learned to lip read, so he responded. "Say what you want, but their cheeseburgers aren't half bad."

"Where do we eat? I don't see a lounge." Children filled the long lunch tables with food, orange plastic trays, and cacophonous conversation.

"Oh, well, there is one, but it's kinda cramped and I have lunch monitor duty. Wanna monitor with me? All you have to do is stand around and make sure no one gets killed. Pretty easy." Alfred said. Behind the oblivious American, one blonde child was forcibly pulled over a table. Arthur chose to conveniently ignore the event.

"I'm not entirely sure about that. Some of these children look like they should be in juvenile hall." He eyed one girl, who was wearing a shirt that appeared to have been put through the garbage disposal. Her blue-streaked blonde hair was a curly mess atop her head.

"Artie, you used to dress like that when you went punk, remember? And more colors than that, too." Alfred thought back to when he had accidentally uncovered the Brit's leftover hair dye. Traumatizing.

"Yes, I do, and I should have been detained for half the things I did. I'm just fortunate that no one caught me." Ah, those had been the wild days…

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "And do you want to elaborate on these crimes for an old friend?"

"I'd prefer not to, because you'd go straight to the Queen and tell her like you did last time."

"I thought she knew you were gay! She's your monarch!"

"Well, there are some things I just don't share with the royal family. That being one of them." Arthur huffed, glaring at the American.

"Okay, okay, how many times do I have to say I'm sorry?"

"Maybe if you bought me some tea that doesn't taste like dishwater, I'd consider letting you off."

"Artiiiiiiie!"

"How old are you, nine? I don't cave into puppy dog eyes and whining."

"Yes, you do." Alfred leaned over, smiling endearingly.

Arthur crossed his arms and turned away. "….shut it."

Alfred triumphantly began patrolling the cafeteria, looking around for signs of violence. Arthur, on the other hand, leaned against the wall and listened in. It wasn't as if eavesdropping was a habit, but it was mildly interesting to know what others were saying.

The girl with a rather good dye job, black with purple bits, was lecturing a friend with a large ornate letter L on the back of her t-shirt. "…so we all tried out for the play by the shaky spear guy, even Xemnas…"

A boy over at the next table, wearing fluorescent shoes with a matching shirt, chattering to a large group "…so it was the last five seconds, tie game…"

A girl who looked like the poster child for designer clothes and heavy foundation had a sour look on her face as she relayed gossip to a group of lackeys, "…so I was so, like totally shocked that I was like, no way and she was like "Yeah" and I was like "Whatev" and…"

One of the boys who seemed to be cursed with the misfortune of braces, glasses, and a pimply complexion was sharing a war story, "…so I switched to the laser gun and KO'd Lee, I was like, ROFLMAO n00b…"

Arthur shook his head. It's been a while since he had mingled with the masses, after all, his usual day was working at home in the countryside, talking with all the magical creatures around his home, maybe tending to the garden and commuting to have tea with the Queen when she was free. How long had it been since he'd mixed with all the different personalities the world had to offer? Well, last world conference actually…

An obnoxious voice spoke behind him, "Hey, you going senile, old man? Looked like you were walking down Memory Lane for a bit."

Arthur jumped and whirled around, finding the exact person he expected to. "Alfred, with grammar like that, it's a wonder that you were ever certified to teach English." he fired back. "I was simply reflecting."

The American pushed his glasses back on his nose. "Well, not much time left to do that. It's almost time to pack up the class and get back to the room."

Arthur did a quick double take at the clock. "It seems like we just got here. And all classes get the same amount of break time?"

"Well, yes. Why?"

"Then how do they manage to produce so much noise while consuming all their food? It's nearly inhuman!"

"Says the dude who hangs out with fairies and unicorns." Alfred shot back.

"Says the child who used to swing bison around." Arthur replied.

The American nodded. "Touché."

Green eyes glared. "Don't use French around me."

"Sorry, Artie. Must be the foreign language program here that's getting to me." He grinned.

"Git. What languages does this place offer anyway?"

Alfred shrugged. "Spanish and French. Oh, and a bit of Chinese."

"Two of my least favorite languages. Well, at least Antonio and Francis don't teach in your country..." Arthur stopped himself there, quickly muttered a reverse jinx under his breath and knocked on the table three times, hoping it had some real wood in it.

Alfred noticed. "Gee, Artie, how superstitious can you get? It's not like they're going to drop by for a visit. Well, at least I hope not."

Arthur groaned. That was the last thing he needed. "Please tell customs to be on high alert for a Francis Bonnefoy, Antonio Carriendo, and Gilbert Beilschimdt traveling together."

Alfred chuckled, "It'd be easier to check which airports are raided by an unknown trio."

He nodded. "True, it's an equally reliable method."

An iPhone appeared in Alfred's hand. "Let me text the TSA real quick here."

* * *

Once they got back to the classroom, newly fed and slightly noisier class in tow, the original English teacher, Mrs. Renard, was already at her desk. The mass of students filled the room, creating a dull roar of conversation.

Alfred went up to greet her. "Oh, hello, we didn't think you'd be back until later." They shook hands, "I'm Mr. Jones."

"Well Mr. Jones, the meeting ended a little early, so I fortunately made it back here." She smiled, looking and Arthur, "And who is this?"

"I'm Mr. Kirkland, a friend who's visiting." Arthur introduced himself.

"Well isn't that nice? I'll see you all later then. I imagine y'all have another job to get to, right?" Her accent was different from most of the students. Something…southern?

Alfred checked his watch. "Oh, right, we're subbing for Mrs. Hopper next. Guess we need to get going to catch her before she leaves. Thank you!"

"Thank you. Y'all take care." Mrs. Renard waved goodbye.

"You too." Alfred waved back before leaving. They both stepped into the thin hallways, which Arthur scowled at, as if it were the wall's fault that the corridor was still so slender. Alfred noticed his pause and pulled on his arm, making the glare turn to him.

"What, you git?"

"C'mon, we've gotta get to the next room before classes switch." The expression currently on his face was usually saved for close encounters with ghosts and spirits and made the English nation think twice about disregarding the comment.

"Very well, lead the way."

* * *

It wasn't far, just past a row of lockers. Alfred opened the door and was met by an older woman with thinning blonde hair and thick glasses. She looked them up and down.

"Oh, you must be my substitute. Well, I'm off to the meeting, and I've left the lesson plans in the top drawer, as well as the key for locking up. Take care of the hooligans for me, eh?" She chuckled, "Don't worry, the next block is much quieter."

"Can do, ma'am." Alfred bowed like a Southern gentleman, allowing the portly lady past as if she was Scarlett O'Hara. Mr. Hopper waved as she walked down the hallway, making her way to the annual conference.

Alfred looked at the door appraisingly, as if the wood grains could tell him what the class was like. "So, Mr. Kirkland, want to join me in teaching a history class? I don't think it should be too much of a problem."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You are an absolute nutter, Alfred."

"Maybe, maybe not. Let's give it a shot, aye?" He grinned.

The Brit knew that this was going to be a fun class. "Why not?"

* * *

A/N: Another disclaimer! I don't own the book, play, movie, franchising etc. of Gone with the Wind. Also I don't own iPhones, or the TSA. I also do not own Call of Duty.

Reviews! Because I never know what you think until you tell me!

Hope you all like historical facts, tons in the next chapter. Not unbearable, I promise.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as they stepped over the threshold, Alfred busied himself with sifting through the contents of the top drawer of the desk. He pulled out a stack of papers and sat down. The key ring circled around his finger until Arthur strode pass and leisurely and plucked it off.

The American nation skimmed the papers, then, in a relatively unexpected flick of his wrist, tossed them at his British companion. "Here, you can read these. It's all basic stuff."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Today, if I remember correctly, you couldn't remember the address of the school and had to Google it. And you want me to trust you to remember something that happened…" His eyes scanned the page, "...more than 80 years ago? The Twenties?"

Alfred nodded. "Well, you wouldn't expect me to forget that, would you? I remember towing you from speakeasies to clubs, then you got so drunk that one time that you asked that flapper to-"

Arthur scowled. "You should have never invented that awful moonshine of yours. I was under the influence, or, what were those many euphemisms your people tended to use? I 'had an edge', or I was 'petrified' or something else that was equally ridiculous."

"Well, everyone was pretty much a crazy teenager in the 20s. Now hold on to your seat, Artie, class switch in 3…2…1…" A bell rang, resulting in a sound akin to a tsunami of wildebeest filling the halls. Children poured out of the class and into a passageway that seemed to have spacial properties akin to a TARDIS if it could fit that many souls between those lockers.

Alfred sighed. "I'll stand by the door and make sure nothing too bloody happens. Or do you want to give it a shot?"

"Well," Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, "I suppose I might as well."

* * *

If hell had lemon-yellow walls, burgundy lockers, and a cold spell this year, Arthur imagined it would be something like this. Spirits of the damned crawling past each other, practically stacked one on top of the other. No windows, little breathable air, and ear-splitting noise. Yes, this place had the image.

As Arthur stepped out from under the door frame, he almost stepped on a familiar-looking fedora. The owner quickly noticed the danger to his prized possession and flipped it onto his head before pulling a backpack out of a bottom locker.

"Hey Wes," a voice said, distinct throughout the discordant symphony of sound, "we need to give the script to Señora Hernandez tomorrow, right?" The girl, Mei, pulled a binder out of her locker and fiercely stuffed it into a blue bag.

Westley stood up, backpack zipped up and slung over his shoulder. "Well, if we're planning to film this weekend we'll need to get it back Friday."

"Okay, I'll work on Google Docs this afternoon. Can you add the tildes while I write the new part?" A text book was mercilessly compacted into the bag.

The boy turned and walked right past the Brit, into the class taught by Mr. Alfred F. Jones. "Sure, Mei. See you in class."

She smiled. "When don't you?"

He turned around and shot back, "Math, P.E and chorus." with a winning grin before doing a 180 and walking over to a desk.

"Egotistical ignoramus," she grumbled, pushing a series of pens and pencils into a few empty compartments of the bag. Arthur felt a smile tweak at the corners of his mouth. He liked these two.

* * *

Arthur walked back in just as "Mr. Jones" had managed to settle the class down. The class was scattered randomly, picked so that the obviously talkative kids had only shrinking violets and solitary types in the immediate vicinity.

"Okay, so Mrs. Hopper had to go to a conference, so for the rest of the day, I, Mr. Jones, am going to sub for the class." Alfred proclaimed brightly, rousing only a few mumbles from the class.

"Um, _exuuuus_e me?" The annoying sound came from one boy wearing pink shorts and a blue striped polo, his tone the farthest from sincerity as humanly possible.

"Yes?"

"Why are there, like two of you? Are y'all," he pretended to whisper "_homo-_buddies?" Being as immature as 7th grade classes are, some kids giggled lightly, others more familiar with these antics just rolled their eyes, while a few of the more obnoxious practically fell out of their seats laughing.

Alfred shrugged. "And what if we are?" He asked casually. This just made the class laugh harder.

"Then that'd just be hunky-dory!" The kid said, not missing a beat. Collective exasperated sighs from the more mature. Collective chortling from the more immature.

"Well, sorry to disappoint, but it's a completely professional relationship," Arthur said, lying through his teeth rather flawlessly, "now could we move off the topic of such things and back to history?"

"Right, right." Alfred said, shuffling through some miscellaneous maps, documents and essays to find the roll sheet, "Found it! Now, let's start…Maria?"

"Here."

"Katherine?"

"Here."

"Um, Carti-er?"

"Present!" The obnoxious child from before waved his hand wildly, "And it's pronounced Car-ti-eh, thank you." His voice dripped with a false sweetness like poisoned honey.

"Okay. The first name's cut off, Grell?"

"Here. It's Victoria." A girl raised her hand, indicating her place. Arthur remembered her as the girl from the cafeteria, her distinctive ebony hair with pinkish-purple highlights was quite uncommon and seemed like it would be more at home on the streets of New York City instead of a middle school in suburban Virginia.

"Right. Sweet hair by the way." Some students snickered, as if remembering their other teachers' less than enthusiastic responses to the unusual style.

"Thank you." She studied her computer screen, looking back and forth between it and her teachers. Satisfied, she closed the top and jotted down a quick note that was promptly passed to Mei.

"Renfield?"

"Here."

And so on. The names hardly seemed to change as the roll progressed. On the other side of the room, once Mei had received the note, she too glanced at the two teachers, nodded slightly, wrote something back on the note and passed it back to Victoria. A small agenda was pulled from her overstuffed blue bag, and she began drawing in it as a distraction.

"Westley?"

"Here."

"Mei?"

"Here."

"Okay, end of the roll, who wants to run this up to the office for me?" A couple of hands were raised, 'All right, you." Alfred selected the calm Indian girl who already had her passbook out. He quickly signed the letters AFJ with a flourish, and she left for the office.

* * *

A/N: The reason for two updates in the same day? I'm leaving on vacation tomorrow, so I won't be able to post daily. Therefore, I'll post again as soon as I get back, so until then, enjoy the bonus chapter! And I had a kid like the annoying OC in my history class, and gosh darn it, I'm normally a calm person but he just makes you want to slit his throat within the first five minutes of meeting him. No joke. If his bit offended anyone, I apologize, but I'm trying to portray the immaturity of middle school.

Put some lovely words in that white box below to let me know what you're thinking? Main question: How are my OCs doing? Good? Bad? Unoriginal? Completely unique? Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Okay, after this update I'll be scrambling to get stuff done. I might be able to update some time next week if I'm lucky.

* * *

"So…" Alfred clasped his hands together, as if he was subtly praying to some god to help him remember all the facts from his own history, "Let's start off by guessing how many people were in the USA in the 20s." A few hands went up. "Ah yes, Victoria?"

"106,527,537 people." She recited, as if it was the answer to 1+1. The class had expected this; it appeared she was the resident history buff.

A stunned silence fell over Alfred, while Arthur grinned mischievously, trying to immortalize this moment in his mind. He was becoming quite fond of this Victoria character. She reminded him of his punk days.

"Well…yes…"Alfred said, scrambling to recover, "Just curious, but where'd you learn that?"

Victoria shrugged and muttered something that sounded like "blame it on the cosplay". Alfred forged ahead with his lecture.

"So, the 1920s were called the Roaring Twenties 'cause they were pretty dang cool. Lots of music, art and other cultural stuff happened and…" He noticed the glare coming from his British partner, "…and I think I'll bring up the presentation your teacher wanted me to show you."

Alfred stepped behind the short teacher's desk, tapping a few keys on the laptop and connecting the HDMI cable. A bright blue square appeared on a screen in front of the whiteboard, quickly flickering to a replica of the image on Alfred's monitor at the moment. A small mouse pointer double-clicked on the and brought up a slideshow, which Alfred promptly progressed beyond the title slide.

A picture of dancing women with short skirts and shorter hair appeared, along with some facts about the time period. A rustle of fabric and binders filled the room as everyone got out a piece of paper to copy down the facts.

While they busied themselves with note taking, Alfred whispered in Arthur's ear, "You know, the one on the right looks kinda like the one you-"

Arthur reddened. "Can we not discuss that now?" he said quietly.

"Sure, Mr. Kirkland." Alfred smiled and went back to his temporary role as Mr. Jones, ace US history teacher.

"So, back in the 1920s, you could buy a brand new Model T Ford for $290 because of," he paused and waited for some raised hands, "yes, Mei?"

"Production costs were low due to easy access to raw materials and the assembly line." She said, then went back to her notes.

"And that's right! The US traded a whole bunch with other nations as they got richer and richer due to the rising stock market," at the word _traded _he looked suggestively over at the personification of England, making the other blush slightly and look irritated, a pair of actions and responses that no one really noticed.

Alfred flipped the slide to a picture of a long fur coat and a few more bullet points about fashion in the 20s. "I think I have one of those at home on the coat rack," he muttered, "can you read this part, Artie?"

"Fine." Arthur picked up the lesson plan and flipped to the page, "Back in the 1920s, they had a language with words they developed themselves called slang. For example," he read ahead, glared at his companion who tried to look innocent, then sighed and continued, "if everything was fine, it was called 'ducky'."

The whole class laughed. Arthur just sighed. "A bad date would be called a 'flat tire', and a 'flivver' was a broken car." Kids kept cracking up whenever the words were said, and Arthur, once he concluded, handed the papers back to a rather delighted American.

"Thank you, Mr. Kirkland." The look on Arthur's face almost made him regret it. Almost. "Now," he transitioned to the next slide with a picture of a car advertisement. Unexpectedly, it started playing a jingle with upbeat music.

Alfred's eyes lit up as the tinny voice started singing. The class looked mildly interested, while most of them were just waiting for the notes to appear. "Now kids, this is a song that the Oldsmobile car company commissioned to get their brand name known. Nowadays, Oldsmobiles are classic collectable cars, but they were standard issue back in the times. And they broke down a lot back then."

He started humming, then singing along until the jingle ran its course, "..he'll have to get under, get out and get under, to fix up his Oldsmobile..." Some kids rolled their eyes at the stupidity of the lyrics and ignored it, others listened with a bemused interest, while still others chuckled. A wide range of personalities, a wide range of responses.

Arthur just replicated the face palm he had performed earlier that morning. He remembered that song, Alfred wouldn't stop singing it back in the twenties, and in the end it took more drinks than most wallets could afford to get him drunk enough to cease his poor mimicry of the tune. It was a lucky thing indeed, that nations couldn't be killed by alcohol poisoning.

The song ended, and the slide transitioned to a picture of a men sitting at a bar, all smiling mischievously. Alfred's eyes lit up. Arthur shook his head. Just as he was thinking of alcohol…

"Back in the 1920s, Congress decided to pass a new amendment, which outlawed alcohol, the 18th Amendment, and it was called Prohibition. 'Course, Americans always find a way, so they made their own, called moonshine, and bootlegged, or smuggled it, and drank it in speakeasies, or hidden bars."

General mutterings filled the class as pencils quickly jotted this down. Arthur cast a quick glance at the clock. Another hour until everyone was dismissed. What were they going to do for that long-

The next picture showed up, and a collective groan rose from the class. A project was being assigned. Alfred checked the lesson plan. "Um, okay, she says for you guys to go ahead and get started. So…go!"

Chairs and desks scraped the floor dully as the chatter level rose. Six recognizable clusters formed out of the chaos that ensued. The noise level rose so quickly Arthur thought he must have had earplugs in until just now. He looked over at Alfred, who seemed slightly bothered by this rapid rise in volume.

"Hey! Quiet down!" Alfred shouted above the raucous class, instantly lowering the sound in decibel count. He winked at his companion, as if to say "Amazing, huh?" The Brit simply rolled his eyes. As if anything the American did was worthy of praise.

Green eyes scanned the projected image. One word caught his attention. "A…vodcast? Please enlighten me, Alfred."

The bespectacled blonde was currently relaxing in the history teacher's extremely comfortable office chair when the request caught him off guard. "Hm? Wow, you must be getting up there in the years, Artie. Vodcasts are so old."

"For your information, I'm over a thousand years old, so I'm allowed to be a bit absentminded once in a while. So what is a vodcast, you git?" Arthur looked over at the flurry of children, swarming over their laptops and handouts like bees attacking an intruder, except it was an assignment that happened to fall in their line of fire rather than the adventurous snout of a black bear.

"Well, Artie my dear," Alfred said, receiving the glare from the Brit without so much as a flinch, "vodcasts are a video with a voice recording that goes with it."

Arthur frowned, his infamous eyebrows creeping together in confusion. 'So it's a video."

"No, my poor, naïve friend," Alfred said patronizingly, "the video isn't of the people talking, it can be pictures, short clips, etcetera, about the subject and that go with the words…"

"You could have just said that straight out instead of beating around the bush, you insufferable twit." Arthur grumbled.

"I know. But you're cute when you're angry."

The Brit turned away to hide his blush. "Shut it."

Alfred smirked. "I won that one. Hey, Artie, did you notice that kid in the back?"

"If you mean the one who has quite cleverly disguised her true hair color, then yes, I might have noticed her slightly standing out from the crowd."

The American shook his head. "No, it's that dude from the last class with the hat. Whatsits…something."

"By all the four leaf clovers in Ireland, you have a horrible memory, Alfred. I believe it was Westley?"

Alfred waved away the criticism. "Yeah, yeah, my old gray matter isn't top notch in the memory department, but he has a cool sense of style. Like the fedora."

Arthur chuckled. "That may be what you think, but I'm fairly sure most Brits will agree with me when I say that a Stetson, a bowtie and suspenders are the height of fashion."

The younger looked as if the reference had gone entirely over his head. Fortunately, someone else in the room had managed to pick up the statement and came over .

"Nice to meet a fellow Whovian." Victoria said, high-fiving the Brit before walking back to her group.

"And that," Arthur said, turning back to the bespectacled blonde, "is one of the reasons I don't fully despise you Yanks."

"You and your sci-fi shows, old man." Alfred shook his head and returned to surveying the class.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry, but Doctor Who references are just too good to pass up. The Olympics distracted me from writing, so I was quite behind. All the lovely Hetalia implication that come from it :) Hope y'all liked the history lessons, the agony of living in the state that I live in is you learn the state history over and over, and its basically US history. Every. Single. Year. So irritating...that combined all the historical signs you pass daily and never stop to read XD

Read and Review/Comment/whatever they're calling it now please!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Computer issues, but I'm back up now!

* * *

"Oh heavens, you ignorant muppet, I'm fairly sure it's a popular show here in the 'States' as well. You can be such a xenophobic moron sometimes. Just because the show is British doesn't mean it's not worthy of your lackluster entertainment standards. Americans, you even need different insults."

"Well, we do!" The younger of the two proclaimed joyfully. "Just like you have a ton of cool insults. Like that one you used just now, muppet? And you call me a git a lot, I'm not sure if that's a good thing…"

"It's not. But I wouldn't say you Americans are completely without merit. I heard one of the students saying 'egotistical ignoramus' earlier." Arthur chuckled. He'd have to write that one down.

"Oh yeah, Mei. She hurls a lot of creative insults at that poor guy. She could give you a run for your money." Alfred said, eyes skating over the room to focus on the girl in question, who was currently correcting the facts presented by her group members.

"I've subbed here before. I've always noticed her cause she was with that other guy, Westley. I asked them, and they have five classes with each other! Five!" Bright blue eyes lit up. "Cool, huh? Out of 300 people, around 20-30 people to a class, they have five together. Can't make things easy on her though."

The last part caught the Brit's attention. "What do you mean by that?"

The taller of the two rolled his sky-blue eyes in mock exasperation. "Really, and they say I can't read the mood. I mean how she totally has a crush on that guy with the hat."

Arthur gave his former apprentice a glare that had stopped full armies in the past. "Alfred, you cannot simply go around matchmaking. You're nearly as bad as Elizaveta!"

Apparently, the American had chosen not to pay attention to the glare or he was just unfazed by it. "Oh come on, I'm not as bad as Elizaveta. But seriously, watch her for a bit." Alfred pointed in her direction, a gesture that was quickly swatted down by the gentleman.

"I do believe I taught you that pointing is rude, if nothing else. Fine, I'll observe your little budding romance. Since it seems there's not much else to do." Arthur directed his attention to the cluster of children, in which all the students of Asian descent were scribbling plans on paper and discussing, while the others were cheering on a pixilated character as he leaped over spikes.

Alfred smirked. "There's always Tetris and Solitaire if you're bored."

"Oh shut it. What makes you think they have any attraction to each other whatsoever?"

The American looked thoughtfully over the cramped room, observing the variety of personalities as they clashed with each other, almost as if it was another peace summit meeting. All it was missing was trigger-happy Switzerland.

"Well Artie, I saw it when she keeps staring off in his direction-"

"You git, he sits in front of her. She's merely looking at the board. You're going to need more concrete evidence."

"Well in the other classes he's beside her but…Okay, maybe that wasn't the best example, but they talk a lot." Alfred said, trying to drive his point home.

Arthur sighed. "They're simply good friends. Is that too much for you to understand?"

"But, she calls him names and…and they have lockers next other!" Alfred became more and more flustered as his certainty became compromised. A moment ago, he was sure he had a better basis for his assumption.

"Alfred, I do believe that lockers are assigned in schools. You're probably making this up just to have some subtle purpose that I doubt you've thought through yet."

"Well, they sit near each other at lunch and they're Spanish partners, and…" Alfred hung his head down, utterly resigned to the fact he seemed to have no evidence at all. "You could be right, Artie."

"Of course I'm right, I'm the best educated person in this room!" The Brit said triumphantly, casting another glance around the room, checking to make sure there was no sign of violence among the kids who were currently disbanding from their groups. Mei was still studiously writing something in her agenda, but the longer pencil strokes suggested drawing instead.

"Well," Alfred said dejectedly, "looks like I really can't read the atmosphere after all. Dang, I thought I was onto something. 'Cause she was acting like y-" Whatever the American had been about to say, he'd stopped himself, causing Arthur to look curiously at him.

"Acting like what?"

"She acted like you do in world conference meetings. Smacking me on the back of my head, calling me names, avoiding me and then talking to me like you couldn't make up your mind, stuff like that." Alfred said, quickly throwing his arms over his face in a defensive position once he finished. "Just saying! Don't hit me!"

"I won't hit you, idiot, but that was actually a thorough analysis on your part." And he was right, for once. She did seem to insult him more than usual, punching his shoulder and the like. It was…just like him.

Arthur became intrigued that his long, complicated struggle with his former charge could be compared to a love struck teenage girl. "Imagine, Alfred, if all the members of the world conference were teenagers with raging hormones, all trapped in a room together."

They both chuckled, the prospect seemed hilarious. "Well, for starters," Alfred said, "Vash would shoot everyone, Francis would rape everyone, Ivan would scare everyone, I would smash a whole bunch of stuff, you'd be drunk and trying to convince everyone fairies existed, and Kiku wouldn't even be there 'cause he'd be all hikkimori or something."

Arthur winced. "Remind me never to picture that scene. Ever. But you have to admit, they all act an awful lot like us. That kid, the one hitting on the girl in the back? He'd be-"

"Francis." They said in unison.

"And the one that's sleeping at his desk?"

"Heracles." Again in unison.

The two continued naming the students, from the blonde girl who timidly read a novel in the corner, the yelling project directors, and then labeling the Doctor Who fan as Hungary after getting a glimpse of the yaoi fanart concealed cleverly in her planner.

"And who do you think Mei'd be?" Arthur asked, looking over at the girl in question, who was chatting with Victoria.

"You, Artie. And Westley'd be me." Alfred said, a small smile on his face.

The Brit sighed. "I guess I can't stop you from pairing them together. Just promise me you won't pull any strings to get them in all of each other's classes next year."

Alfred held up a hand as if to take an oath. "I, Alfred F. Jones, do solemnly swear to not cause trouble for them." He raised a sardonic eyebrow, mocking his companion.

"Oh, you git, you're probably going to do it anyway, so why do I even bother?" Arthur grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"Because I'm the greatest, awesomest person you know?" The American said, fake innocence decorating his tone as he slung an arm over his companion's shoulder.

Arthur would have ordinarily grabbed his arm and flipped the offender over, but he decided to abstain from such an action. Mostly because the desk in front of him would be in shambles if he attempted such a feat. So he let it rest there. "No, it must be that I've temporarily lost my mind. It seems to be the surest answer at the moment."

Alfred chuckled. "Don't worry Artie, we've only got another ten minutes of class. Then it's just you, me, and whatever magic imaginary creatures you brought with you!"

"Alfred, I don't bring them with me, and for the thousandth time, fairies exist! Just because you're a shortsighted yank with no perception of otherworldly forces-"

"Just because you're a senile old man who needs glasses more than I do-"

"Oh shut it. They're reading glasses, bifocals."

"Suuuure." Alfred said, drawing out the sound with a slight Southern twang.

Arthur threw up his hands. "You truly are hopeless."

They lapsed into silence, as the class was making enough noise of a crowd twice the size. The Brit glanced over at the focus of their discussion, the girl, Mei. She didn't seem to act like a lovelorn youth, but looks could be deceiving, as the saying goes. For the past while, she'd had her nose buried in her agenda book, quickly scribbling out drawing of a bird.

A bleached blonde sat near him, her makeup running around the edges as she confided in a brunette with expensive jewelry clasped around her neck. The girl in the second row, her short, mousy hair falling over wire-framed glasses as she read the book on her lap. A fedora-wearing boy talking obliviously with the poor girl who hid her interest a bit too well. The age-old rivalry between two jocks. How odd it seemed that all their troubles were nothing more than schoolyard quarrels in varying degrees of proportion.

When the bell rang, a veritable stampede occurred, almost knocking Arthur off his feet as everyone attempted to be the first out, cramming themselves through the doorframe in an effort to leave the room as fast as physically possible.

Alfred observed the rush. "Well I'll be. They usually shove more than this."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I do hope you're joking." The bustling crowd of teens melded together into a blur of fabric and faces as they pushed out the door and into the flow of the hallway.

After about five minutes, the dust had settled and the American declared that it was safe to go outside. Thankfully, the muddy-yellow walls seemed undamaged by the brute force of 300 people trying to all leave as soon as the bell rang. A few burgundy lockers swung listlessly on their hinges, squeaking from the strain. Echoes of footsteps sounded in the corridor.

And one student remained in the room.

"Pardon me miss, but aren't you supposed to have left by now?" Arthur asked, ever the polite gentleman.

The girl looked up from the floor, black and pink hair pushed to the side. "Oh, sorry, my mom's coming late to pick me up, and there's a staff meeting in the library. I just have to stick around here for a bit to avoid some of the local kids."

Alfred looked confused. "Why avoid them?"

Victoria sighed. "They aren't my biggest fans. I'd rather walk past a pen of hungry lions. So do you mind if I stick around for a bit?"

"No, not at all, but you will have to leave eventually. How long?"

She checked the clock. "About five minutes. They all clear out after that."

"Then we can wait five minutes." Alfred said, looking over at Arthur, who seemed fine with the idea.

"Okay. I'm also taking a poll." Victoria whipped out a piece of paper with tally marks covering it. "When you came to class, how obvious was it that my friend is going through some severe emotional turmoil?"

"…what?" Arthur said, half-wondering if his hearing had gone.

"Well, my friend, Mei. How obvious? Scale of 1-10." She said matter-of-factly.

Alfred pondered it for a bit. "About a 3, she keeps it under wraps."

He was rewarded with a punch on the shoulder from a disgruntled British gentleman. "Alfred, you do not simply tell someone that!"

"It's okay, Mr..uh, Kirkland, was it?' He nodded. "Okay then. I'm just taking a survey because I was wondering how other people interpreted it. It's a long story. Now, how long do you think they've known each other?"

Arthur attempted to look confused. " 'They'? Who could you mean by-"

"I'd say about a year, maybe more." Alfred said casually. Once again, he received a hard impact on his shoulder blade. "Ow…"

"Thank you. Actually, they've only known each other for five months. And last question," she tapped her pencil in a rhythm reminiscent of a drumroll, "will they or won't they?"

"Will." Alfred said cheerfully, getting another blow to the side. "Quit hitting me Artie!"

"All right, that's all the input I'll need, thank you for your cooperation." Victoria said officially, filing the paper away and slinging her book bag over her shoulder. "I'll be going now, takes me a while to walk outside anyway."

This prompted the Brit to glance at the clock. "Wait, was your sole purpose here to interrogate us?"

She smiled slyly. "Maybe. Have a nice day!" She waved as she backed out the door.

Arthur facepalmed. "Alfred, you don't just tell someone their friend is in emotional turmoil."

"Aw c'mon Artie, it was all harmless. I'm not going to meddle, remember?"

"We both know that's a lie."

"Well, maybe just a small one. Back to my place then?" Alfred hefted his laptop bag over his shoulder and looped the other arm around his companion's.

"All right, you git. And we're not stopping my McDonald's on the way back."

"But Artie!"

"I said no."

* * *

A/N: The End! Thank you all for reading my little slice-of-life attempt, it was fun writing it.

Drop a review! Tell me whether or not I should do a "five years later" epilogue or something of the sort. I've been pondering it but I'm not entirely sure yet.

I'm also a beta reader now! Filled out the profile and everything. I think my editing is the only reason my writing is half-way decent XD

And I've got a poll on my profile that would really love some answering ^-^ England's human middle name? So far the winning vote is James.


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